“I was waving at you during your set but I couldn’t get close enough to get your attention. Everybody else was waving too.”
Jesse tried to introduce Amy to Toussaint but the music was too loud. Toussaint smiled at her and settled back to being swept away by the magic. The great New Orleans song master looked like he’d seen it all but hadn’t seen anything like this.
Jesse was amazed and more than a little intimidated by the bass player on stage. He was a thin, black man, at least fifty years old, with extra long fingers and bent-over posture. He was respectfully caressing a beat-up, electric, Fender bass. The instrument looked like it had been played for years, up and down the Mississippi River from Chicago to St. Louis to Memphis to New Orleans. He wasn’t playing anything all that technically difficult, but he was smooth and powerful at the same time. The man understood how long to hold a note. Starting on the seventh fret of his four string bass, he could run down the major scale to a bottom-of-the-well, open E note that lasted two full measures. He was so locked into the bass drum that the two sounded like one. When he ran up the neck for a thrill fill, he changed the entire feel of the song. He drove the musical vehicle like Bootsy Collins pushed James Brown’s band in the early 1970’s. His bass playing laid the foundation for the rest of the band. He seemed to know exactly what the piano players were going to do. The few times he got fooled he simply dropped out for a couple of measures and even that sounded cool.
Jesse had a sinking feeling he would never be as commanding a talent as the player he was watching and admiring.
Tipitina’s was too packed with people for anybody to really dance. Still, the music made them fluid. The crowd became one as they moved together like an ocean in a storm. There was more room to dance behind the stage. Carmen swayed and swirled herself into what looked like a Voodoo trance. She was being transported to another world.
Jesse peered out at the crowd and saw Ruthie and the mystery man in the front row, apparently headed for the same strange land as Carmen. Ruthie had her arms stretched out in front of her as if to welcome the music with a warm embrace.
The collaborative super band didn’t take a break all night. Musicians would drop out for a song or two but the band never stopped. Songs didn’t end; they morphed into the next tune.
Near the end of the night, Dr. John led a version of “Right Place Wrong Time” that seemed to make every person in the club feel like part of the band. The song changed through blues, jazz, pop, and boogie-woogie until it finally landed in a zone so funkadelic that even George Clinton would have been knocked out.
The band kept soaring to new heights and then climbing even higher. By the time Professor Longhair did “Go to the Mardi Gras,” the delirious crowd nearly drowned out the band with their sing-along.
People were standing on the bar and hanging from the rafters and riding on each other’s shoulders to get a better look at the show. The lights changed colors on the sweating musicians and their gleaming instruments. They looked like mad scientists experimenting in the laboratory.
Professor Longhair took over for a version of “Got My Mojo Workin’” that pretty much set the place on fire with sexual energy. It was hard to get a drink. People started buying booze by the bottle and passing it around. It was the same for marijuana. The smoke was so thick you didn’t have to take a hit to get high.
Just when the crowd thought no one could get any higher, Dr. John called up The Divebomberz for a grand finale of “Iko, Iko.” People sang along like there might not be a tomorrow and, even if there was, it wouldn’t matter because tonight was so much fun. The two drummers played off each other like jungle brothers. Three piano players shot off like fireworks streaking into the night. The singers started sounding like horns and the horns started sounding like singers.
Butch and Tim managed to plug their instruments in and play along. Jesse was happy banging a tambourine and being onstage with the greatest bass player he had ever encountered. The song went on for a good half hour and nobody missed a beat or a riff. All the musicians were in the zone. It was musical revelation, one that anyone present would talk about for the rest of her life.
It was after 3 a.m. by the time the performance finally ended. The crowd screamed for more until the stage lights went down and the house lights came up. It took another hour for people to leave.
Once the club shut down and the crowd was gone, the musicians hung out, basking in the afterglow and beginning to pack up gear. Pete was everybody’s best friend with the cocaine station he’d set up inside a backstage maintenance closet.
Amy went home when she realized she couldn’t stay up as long as people who were powered by jet fuel.
Jesse got his moment with the mystery man. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“I told you, name Gabriel.”
Jesse slapped his head in embarrassment. “Oh, yeah, that’s right. I forgot.”
Gabriel smiled at Jesse forgivingly. “You forgot my name but you didn’t forget me.”
“Why is that?” Jesse asked.
“Because I brought you to the Voodoo.”
“So did I,” Carmen said, suddenly appearing with Dr. John in tow. “Tell my friend, Jesse, about the voice, good Doctor.”
Dr. John started off with a question. “You been hearing it? That’s a good thing.”
“How long have you been hearing it?” Jesse asked.
“Since I was about seventeen, I guess.”
Jesse did not want to miss his chance to learn more about the voice. “Are we all hearing the same voice or does everybody hear a different one?”
Dr. John laughed a little and then got serious. “The voice connects us all. Each of us hears our own version of the voice. It’s telling us to pay attention to the side of life many people do not believe exists, the spirit world. Be careful, though. Sometimes your head makes up things the voice never said. That’s when you get in trouble.”
Jesse heard the voice laughing inside his head. “I hear it laughing right now. Do you hear it?”
Tim joined in. “I’ve heard the voice too, but I don’t hear it now.”
Dr. John listened for a moment. “I don’t hear it now. It’s not like the voice is a person, saying the same thing to everyone at the same time. It’s much more personal. Be thankful when you hear it.”
Jesse looked at Dr. John. “Why would the voice be laughing right now?”
Dr. John looked Jesse right in the eye. “That’s for you to decide. Just remember, you learn from your interpretation. You might think the voice is laughing at you for being foolish or you might think the voice is laughing because we all just put on the greatest show of our lives. If you think it’s laughing at you, you might want to wonder what’s making you feel insecure.”
“I’ll go with the greatest show on earth,” Jesse said.
Dr. John seemed to understand what Jesse was really feeling. “How’d you like my bass player?”
“That might be why the voice is laughing at me,” Jesse admitted.
“Why? Because you’re not as good as him?”
“No, because I’ll never be as good as him no matter how long and hard I try.”
Dr. John put his arm around Jesse. “Now, now. Don’t go down that road. You’ll never be him, that’s for sure. You be you and don’t worry about anybody else. I watched you play. You got good chops. And I hear you write songs. My bass man never did that. You’re going to be fine. How do you think I feel playing with Fess?”
Tim spoke up. “Yeah, I wondered about that. It must have been strange, playing with the man who taught you how to play.”
Dr. John did a little spin move with his arms out for balance. “You got to be you. Everybody else is taken.”
Carmen threw her arms around Dr. John. “That is why I love this man so much. He tells it like it is.”
Dr. John kept his eye on Tim and Jesse. “Music’s not a competition. It’s a group effort. And by the way,” he said to Tim. “You got it going on that fiddle.”
“Thank you, man. That’s a big compliment coming from you.”
“Hey, we’re all just helping people over the river,” Dr. John said.
“What do you mean?” Jesse asked.
“I mean to tell you what I’ve learned from the voice of Voodoo,” Dr. John said.
They waited, expectantly, for him to complete the thought.
“I’ve learned that music can transport people across the river of confusion.”
Dale joined the conversation. “Oh, yeah, the river of confusion. What a great song title.”
“You got that right,” Dr. John said.
“What about the river?” Jesse asked. “Why is it even there?”
Dr. John took a deep, thoughtful breath before answering. “The river runs between the spiritual and material worlds. The river runs through each one of us and connects us all if we let it. Most people don’t know about the river. They damn it up all the time with their selfishness. They end up with a hole in their soul and they try to fill it with booze or drugs or sex. That shit doesn’t work. Believe me, I’ve tried it all. The only thing that fills the hole is letting the river run through you.”
Carmen looked at Jesse. “Does any of this sound familiar?”
“It’s really starting to make sense,” Jesse said.
“What’s it like making it in the music business?” Dale asked, not realizing he was changing the course of a deep conversation.
Dr. John didn’t mind being interviewed by a fellow musician. “It’s about the music, not the business. The people who survive in this game are the ones who make music for the sake of making music. Just remember, don’t sign anything until you find someone you can trust.”
“Will the voice help me know who to trust?” Jesse asked.
“I do hope so, my friend. I’ve learned to trust it over the years. But I still get fooled. Sometimes because the voice doesn’t talk to me and sometimes … because I don’t listen.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
RACELAND MUSIC HALL
The New Year’s Eve party at the Raceland Music Hall got off to a fast start. The Wheelers thundered into town on their Harleys. Their girlfriends arrived in separate vehicles. All the survivors from the Safari fire and most of their friends came. Half the bayou showed up.
The music hall was a two-story, corner tavern with a long history for live music. They called it a hall because the building had been gutted to make room for a large stage and dance floor. People came to dance their hearts out and party without inhibition.
Most importantly, there was no trouble with the Gypsies. The truce had been holding up for more than a month. Peace had been restored on the bayou. Hopes were high that everyone would have a prosperous New Year. The Wheelers posted a watch of armed guards in a one-block perimeter around the club, just in case.
The Divebomberz played better than ever after their Tipitina’s inspiration with Dr. John and Professor Longhair and Aaron Neville. Rene slowed down the tempo on a few songs. Jesse became more deliberate on the bass. Tim and Butch started giving each other more room for solos, and Dale varied the levels on his singing for a more dynamic style.
The band played two sets of foot stomping music. The crowd was having so much fun that nobody seemed to notice the midnight hour approaching. Amy got Jesse’s attention by pointing to her watch.
“All right, everybody,” Jesse said. “I don’t know if anybody’s noticed, but it’s going to be a New Year in two minutes.”
“That’s right,” Dale said as the crowd began cheering in anticipation. “It’s time to make your resolutions and get ready to kiss the lover of your dreams like there will be no tomorrow.”
Jesse’s favorite part of any New Year’s gig was just before midnight. It always felt like a rocket ship was about to lift off the launch pad at Cape Canaveral. He and the band got the entire crowd involved in the countdown. Amy came onstage with Jesse, Terry with Butch, Loretta with Tim, and Polly with Rene. The only band member without a partner onstage was Dale.
Everybody cheered and kissed each other as midnight arrived. Then, they joined arms and sang along to “Auld Lang Syne.” It was a traditional celebration, but Jesse had a feeling the night was going to be filled with surprises. The back of his neck was tingling like the Voodoo voice was trying to get through to him.
“You want to know what my new year’s resolution is?” Dupre asked Dale once the kissing and the singing were over and the band had taken a break.
Dale did not want to know but he played along. “Why, yes I do.”
“I’m resolving to not shoot anybody,” Dupre said.
“I’d have to say that’s a good resolution,” Dale said.
“First year I’ve ever had to make it.”
“What if the truce doesn’t hold up?”
“Then I’ll have to break my resolution,” Dupre said, laughing like a spook show host and patting the .45 handgun holstered under his left arm.
Dale put his hands against the sides of his face. “Oh, I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“It won’t. Business is better than ever all around. By the way, who is this Pete guy who claims to be your manager? He’s buying some serious quantity lately.”
“How much?”
“Last week he paid cash for two kilos.”
“That’s a lot of cocaine.”
“No shit,” Dupre said. “Don’t look now but I think your good old boy is in it up to his eyeballs.”
“He’s not selling it to us,” Dale said. “We can’t afford it.”
“Well, here’s a little something to get you through the night,” Dupre said as he slipped an eight ball of coke into Dale’s palm. “I’ve got one for everybody in the band. Spread the word.”
People were dancing to taped music through the P.A. while the band was on break. Tim and Loretta were doing a crazy waltz-polka when Dale whispered the cocaine news to Tim, who quickly directed their dance steps to meet with Dupre for the surreptitious drug pass.
Tim and Loretta were already in high spirits. The night was the zenith of a whirlwind courtship that saw Loretta moving in after the first month. Their duplex apartment on Annunciation Street in New Orleans had become a hangout for musicians and Indiana refugees. They played bluegrass and folk music on the wide front steps of their house while the neighborhood kids danced on the sidewalk below like they were dancing for tips on Bourbon Street. Loretta was a black-haired, buxom beauty with a broad smile. She was shy, but she had a big laugh and a twisted sense of humor. She read and collected back issues of an offbeat comic book called “Amputee Love.” She and Tim made a great couple. They balanced each other well. Her dark side brought out his bright side.
Tonight they were ready to party until dawn with the band and all their friends.
Terry and Butch took the next pass from Dupre. They had settled in quite nicely together in their garden street apartment, head over heals in love. Butch and Jesse had recently written a song about Terry, entitled “I Want to Believe.”
Butch wanted to believe in love. He wanted to believe a man and woman could actually be happy together. His parents had not succeeded. His alcoholic father had mistreated and eventually left his mother. Butch did not have a mean bone in his body. He could be shy, socially, but he was never shy with Terry. He was as energized with her as he was playing guitar.
Rene and Polly were next. They were in their full glory. Raceland was their hometown, and all their friends were there to hear Rene with his up-and-coming band. Rene took a behind-the-back drug pass from Dupre like they were playing basketball for the Harlem Globetrotters.
As soon as Dupre made the pass to Jesse, Amy dragged her fiancé outside as fast as she could and shook a finger in his face. “I don’t like what happens to you when you do that shit,” she scolded. “You go off in your own little world and forget about me. It’s like I’m not even here.”
Jesse hung his head. “C’mon, Amy. It’s New Year’s Eve. It’s time to party.”
She grabbed him with both hands by his shoulders and got her face up close to his. “If you want me to stay, you won’t be snorting that cocaine I saw Dupre hand you.”
Jesse hated being given an ultimatum. Part of him wanted to tell Amy to go on home and leave him alone. But he didn’t want her to go. He loved her and he loved the way she could tell him to his face what he needed to hear. He remembered how bad he felt the night she left him in the rain outside the Sea Shell. He decided to lie to her.
“Okay, I won’t do any. Come on, let’s go back inside. We’ve got another two sets to play. The natives are getting restless.”
He kissed her and took her by the hand, back into the club. Amy followed him with a deep sigh. She realized she couldn’t control him
Butch had a line of cocaine set up for everybody in the band on the back of his amp. By the time they started playing, they were practically goose-stepping to the jolting rush of the drug. The crowd was right there with them. The Hall seemed to be floating about a foot above its foundation.
Nobody knew that Dupre was outside, getting busted in the parking lot. Federal agents snuck up on him, cuffed him and whisked him off in an unmarked car so quickly that none of the Wheelers knew what was happening. Dupre’s girlfriend only saw the tail end of the federal arrest. He wasn’t holding any drugs when they nabbed him. He had given the last of his stash away only moments before his arrest.
It took some time for the Wheelers to realize it was a federal arrest. Dupre’s girlfriend mentioned she had seen DEA logos on jackets and hats. Big Ben was stomping around the parking lot behind the club in a full-blown rage. “This has to be Gypsy, ratting us out.”
No one dared contradict him or even suggest that more facts were needed to properly assess the situation. The Wheelers quickly assembled to plan a swift retaliation against The Gypsies. Word of the arrest spread quickly through the party. A paranoid chill replaced the rowdy atmosphere. Most people in the crowd were holding some kind of illegal drugs or firearms. Who knew when the agents might come back to make more arrests?
Rock and Roll Voodoo Page 17